in hand, he looked at me in that knowing way parents have. "So, how long are you going to keep up this Phantom Rushee business?"
"Cole and I agreed on an article a week up until initia- tion. Then I'm out."
"Not going to write your name in blood, huh?"
"Uh, no." Not when it might be literal. I rubbed my punc- tured finger and thought about symbolism. Blood brothers, candle-lighting, colors and ciphers. "Hey, Dad. Put on your historian hat for a sec. What's the evolution of fraternities and sororities? Despite all the Greek letters and stuff, they don't have roots that far back, do they?"
He considered the question, rubbing the Saturday stub- ble on his jaw. "Well, secret societies do. Think about the Templars, the Masons. But the first fraternity was Phi Beta Kappa in 1776, and it was more of a literary organization. Social fraternities didn't come along until the nineteenth century."
"The way they carry on about ritual and tradition, you'd think they'd been around since the dawn of time."
"They took Greek letters as their names to give that air of tradition and ritual. It's human nature. Being in on a secret makes a group feel superior to the ignorant masses."
That made sense; there was certainly no lack of superi- ority complexes on Greek Row. "But you don't think it really makes a difference in future success, do you?"
"Networking is a powerful tool." He shrugged. "All other things being equal, it could be an advantage later on."
"But does any one chapter strike you as more success- ful? At least on our campus?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid I've never given much thought to the Greeks on campus, unless a student's grades slip. Even then, the individual house doesn't mean much to me."
"Okay. What do you know about Congressman Abbott?"
"Just what I read in the papers." He looked at me curi- ously. "What does he have to do with the Sigma Alpha Xis?"
"Well, his wife is one. She's the chapter adviser."
What could it have to do with the SAXis? Probably nothing. But it was a place to start, when I didn't have much to go on.
It was time for a little old-fashioned, completely mun- dane detective work. Mumbling an excuse to my father, I rose and headed for the stairs.
"You forgot your coffee," he called.
The stale smell of nuked coffee was too much, even for me. "I'll get some on the way to the paper."
"Maggie?" I turned at the concerned note in his voice. "What are you up to?"
"Just getting my Nancy Drew on, Dad."
He met my innocent look with one of narrow-eyed doubt. "There isn't any . . ." He glanced to check that Mom wasn't in the living room. ". . . you know. Any weird stuff going on, is there?"
"Don't tell Mom," I whispered. "But all Greek stuff is weird to me."
He let out a pent-up breath. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that."
I hated to lie to my dad, even by omission. But really. There just wasn't a way to introduce the subject of sorcerous sororities without getting into a much more involved dis- cussion than I could handle before lunchtime. F F F
Upstairs I found a message from Justin on my voicemail. "Hi, Maggie. Saw that you called last night. The reception in the old library is awful. Since you didn't leave a message, I figured you were okay. Call me if you want."
Of course I wanted. Didn't I make that clear?
But should I? In the security of my room, I felt a little silly for freaking out yesterday. And I knew I shouldn't always rely on Justin. The fact that I wanted to run to him, to play the damsel-in-distress card and get his atten- tion, made me that much more determined to do this with- out him.
Resolved, I deleted the message. 13
A couple of decades ago, the town had passed a bond to restore downtown Avalon to its original redbrick streets and Victorian faux-gaslight glory. The courthouse was in the center of the town square; the surrounding blocks were dot- ted with long-standing businesses, like the Sentinel, inter- spersed with new stores,
"Cole and I agreed on an article a week up until initia- tion. Then I'm out."
"Not going to write your name in blood, huh?"
"Uh, no." Not when it might be literal. I rubbed my punc- tured finger and thought about symbolism. Blood brothers, candle-lighting, colors and ciphers. "Hey, Dad. Put on your historian hat for a sec. What's the evolution of fraternities and sororities? Despite all the Greek letters and stuff, they don't have roots that far back, do they?"
He considered the question, rubbing the Saturday stub- ble on his jaw. "Well, secret societies do. Think about the Templars, the Masons. But the first fraternity was Phi Beta Kappa in 1776, and it was more of a literary organization. Social fraternities didn't come along until the nineteenth century."
"The way they carry on about ritual and tradition, you'd think they'd been around since the dawn of time."
"They took Greek letters as their names to give that air of tradition and ritual. It's human nature. Being in on a secret makes a group feel superior to the ignorant masses."
That made sense; there was certainly no lack of superi- ority complexes on Greek Row. "But you don't think it really makes a difference in future success, do you?"
"Networking is a powerful tool." He shrugged. "All other things being equal, it could be an advantage later on."
"But does any one chapter strike you as more success- ful? At least on our campus?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid I've never given much thought to the Greeks on campus, unless a student's grades slip. Even then, the individual house doesn't mean much to me."
"Okay. What do you know about Congressman Abbott?"
"Just what I read in the papers." He looked at me curi- ously. "What does he have to do with the Sigma Alpha Xis?"
"Well, his wife is one. She's the chapter adviser."
What could it have to do with the SAXis? Probably nothing. But it was a place to start, when I didn't have much to go on.
It was time for a little old-fashioned, completely mun- dane detective work. Mumbling an excuse to my father, I rose and headed for the stairs.
"You forgot your coffee," he called.
The stale smell of nuked coffee was too much, even for me. "I'll get some on the way to the paper."
"Maggie?" I turned at the concerned note in his voice. "What are you up to?"
"Just getting my Nancy Drew on, Dad."
He met my innocent look with one of narrow-eyed doubt. "There isn't any . . ." He glanced to check that Mom wasn't in the living room. ". . . you know. Any weird stuff going on, is there?"
"Don't tell Mom," I whispered. "But all Greek stuff is weird to me."
He let out a pent-up breath. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that."
I hated to lie to my dad, even by omission. But really. There just wasn't a way to introduce the subject of sorcerous sororities without getting into a much more involved dis- cussion than I could handle before lunchtime. F F F
Upstairs I found a message from Justin on my voicemail. "Hi, Maggie. Saw that you called last night. The reception in the old library is awful. Since you didn't leave a message, I figured you were okay. Call me if you want."
Of course I wanted. Didn't I make that clear?
But should I? In the security of my room, I felt a little silly for freaking out yesterday. And I knew I shouldn't always rely on Justin. The fact that I wanted to run to him, to play the damsel-in-distress card and get his atten- tion, made me that much more determined to do this with- out him.
Resolved, I deleted the message. 13
A couple of decades ago, the town had passed a bond to restore downtown Avalon to its original redbrick streets and Victorian faux-gaslight glory. The courthouse was in the center of the town square; the surrounding blocks were dot- ted with long-standing businesses, like the Sentinel, inter- spersed with new stores,
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